From The Birmingham Age-Herald, April 25, 1913. He never wrote upon the walls, He never did a window break, Through him the cat ne’er lifted squalls So loud they might the dead awake. His little sister never felt A strand of hair pulled from her crown, Upon her cheek no blows were dealt, He ne’er was known to push her down. His mother’s days were free from care, His father never used the strap, I’m sure you’ll not find anywhere So well behaved a little chap. You ask me what his name could be And where this youngster doth reside? I can not answer that. You see, I have a secret to confide: Imagination fondly drew The type of boy these lines describe, Too free from faults to be quite true To life and all the boyhood tribe. And maybe it were better so, That none exists so wondrous good, For if he did, I almost know We’d scarcely love him as we should.